Disclaimer: I own naught but the plot.
Explanation: I thought of this while listening to my dad play the piano. I also have fixed the spelling mistake I found. :D
He stared down at the keys. Black and white, black and white. Each with the glossy feel of oily dust and fingerprints. Slats of light crept in from closed blinds, illuminating dust clouds in the air. The yellowing paper, curled at the edges, leaned like a crippled tree, slanted in defeat. He could see those light fingers rapidly moving, strong but never too harsh across the surface. He could hear music, forlorn and beautiful, pouring out from the strings, sending tears of gratitude to anyone who heard.
But no more.
The room was forgotten. Left in the hope that painful memories would leave with it. He traced a line in the dust, revealing the black shiny sheen underneath. The dust swirled up and curled around the figure. The figure that was no longer there. Who would no longer smile, laugh, or play again. How long had it been since those keys had felt warmth? How long had it been since someone had caressed the melodies on the page? Too long. So long that the piano had grown old and weary, just like the memory of its player.
Tentatively, he brushed the powder off of the cracked leather seat. It made a slight creaking sound when touched, breaking the oppressive silence in the room. Tilting hesitantly, he slowly edged onto the seat, his boots making soft noises on the hardwood floor. His fingers hovered over the keys, his eyes on the bent notes. He shook, afraid to break the silence that had filled the instrument for so long. Tears filled up his eyes as he touched a key, and pressed down.
A note rose up. A sad, out-of-tune note. It rung through the walls, calling to all who were nearby, trying desperately to find the one who played with such passion. It twisted up the stairs, and flung itself to the sky, even though no one could hear it anymore. He grit his teeth as salty tears fell from his eyes, making silent splashes on the piano. He closed them and imagined the musty room as it once was, airy and sweet and filled with fervour. He choked, all his sorrow leaking out. It should have been him. It should have been him.
Nicol...